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Pendle Plant Craft Poem
(A Poem for the Friends Who Gather Not a service, not a scheme,Not some box-ticked funding dreamBut a pathless place where hearts come back,A woven thread: Pendle Plant Craft. No…
Pendle Plant Craft
(A Poem for the Friends Who Gather
Not a service, not a scheme,
Not some box-ticked funding dream
But a pathless place where hearts come back,
A woven thread: Pendle Plant Craft.
No gurus here, no teacher’s chair,
Just soil beneath and open air
A group of friends who choose to grow,
Who ask the wild what it might show.
We gather not to be “looked after,”
But to share in food and tears and laughter
To stir the pot, to grind the root,
To feel the earth beneath our boot.
Responsibility’s not a weight,
But a rhythm we can cultivate:
To learn our needs, to hold our place,
To meet the world with kinder grace.
No saviours come, no one is paid
To carry what we each have made
But arms are here, and ears are too,
And space to be what’s real and true.
So if you’re lost or out of tune,
Come sit with nettle, birch, and moon
No promise, plan, or quick repair,
But a circle wide enough to care.
If you’ve been bruised by broken schemes,
You’re welcome here to rest and dream.
If healing paths have felt unkind,
Come walk with us, you’re not behind.
If systems failed to hear your name,
We’ll listen here, we’ve felt the same.
We’re not a cure, we’re not a plan,
But we are soil where hope began.
We’ll teach each other how to mend,
Not as clients, but as friends.
In moss and mushroom, root and flame,
We slowly learn to name our name.
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